Change
by kayel29
Summary: Jason seeks solace at the bottom of a bottle and has a violent disagreement with a table, meanwhile Dick has been thinking about their options. Part 11 of Burn Verse


The first thing on Jason's agenda for what was left of the night was booze, and the second was to get so shit-faced drunk that all memory of the last few weeks was erased from his mind. His face was throbbing as he grabbed his jacket and headed out, a constant reminder of the evening's events. The night was fresh and cool, and even the breeze appeared to be mocking him - it had seemed such a perfect night; what the hell had happened?

The few people he saw on the streets avoided eye contact, one guy going so far as to cross the road to get out of his path. It was a shame – a fight could be a good way of releasing some tension, and he was _very_ fucking tense.

He pushed into a rundown mini-mart three blocks from the hotel and winced at the harsh bell that rang when the door opened. The store owner's eyes followed him carefully as he mooched round the shop trying to work out if he could bear to eat anything, eventually grabbing a bag of chips before heading for the counter. The guy behind the register was broad, unshaven and balding, and he was still watching Jason carefully, but neutrally.

Jason slammed his chips on to the table. "Packet of Marlboro Red and that," he said as he pointed to a bottle of cheap whisky.

The clerk looked him in the eye, and for a moment Jason thought he was going to be carded. "Bad night?" the guy asked instead, his voice was hard and gravelly and his tee-shirt pulled taut over his big belly as he swung round to get the bottle from the shelf. His tame tag read 'Stan.'

"Fuck yes" Jason said

"Worse for the other guy?" Stan hadn't changed expression as he rung up the goods, but he seemed almost wistful.

Jason snorted. "It will be. I figure I'm going to drink this, then throw up on his clothes."

Stan chuckled, "You didn't black his eyes then?"

It was at that point Jason realized his face was sill covered in blood. No wonder people had been so keen to stay out his way. "Hell, of course I did!" he said. What was it about his pride that made him lie to a random shop clerk to seem like he was on top? Some times he wished he could kick himself in the face.

He waved goodbye to Stan, who was looking at him like he wished they could swap places, so he could go out at night and get in fights. Town was full of fucking weirdos.

.

Back at the motel Jason didn't bother with a glass and drank straight from the bottle – the whiskey burnt as it went down his throat, but after a few swallows he didn't feel any better, so he took another, and another.

An hour later he was feeling drunk and belligerent. Everything he and Dick had made over the last few weeks had just imploded in a melee of rage and violence. At first he had felt numb, except for the shame that still curled in his gut which would be his to carry for a while yet. But now he felt rage, and he wanted to break things, Bruce's face especially but he was kind of mad at Dick too – for not trusting him, despite all the times he had proven himself. In fact it was quite easy to forget his own part in the ridiculous fiasco that had taken place.

He focused his aggression on the table. First he smashed the empty bottles he had left there, and then he took the table by the legs and dashed it against the floor. The impact shivered up his arms and it felt good, so he did it again, until all that was left was splinters and misshapen shards of wood. Next he attacked the chair, crashing it against the stupid gurgley toilet. After that came the bathroom mirror. He punched it wildly - and even in his drunken state he could recognize the shitty symbolism in that - it was satisfying to see his image break and splinter under his fists. His blood was very red against the pale porcelain of the sink and he stared at it for a moment or two, lost in contemplation. This was familiar territory for him – rage and destruction – nothing sappy or full of hopeless wanting.

Fuck it. Fuck Dick and his stupid emotions and his stupid face.

He stormed out of the bathroom. His brother had left his shit behind and after kicking the clothes from around the duffle he upended it. Stuff fell out – ipod, condoms, a handful of business cards from the places they had stayed – _that fucking stung_ - half a moldy sandwich, posh mobile phone, fifteen tiny bottles of hotel shampoo, a tattered paperback and several unhappy looking Cheetos. Jason picked up the phone – there were seven unread text messages and he skimmed through them.

The first three messages where from 'little d'

5.34pm: _Grayson, Alfred is insisting that I clean up the dog's mess rather than doing it himself. He is refusing me access to food until I do so. What was your solution to this problem when you had a dog?_

5.42pm:_ Grayson, I no longer require a dog, would you like it or should I give it to Drake?_

5.59pm: _Never mind_

The next text was from 'Princess Timmy' – for a moment he was surprised at that nickname – then he realized Dick probably meant it as a _compliment_, the freak.

6.45pm: _Dick, I am moving into your flat whist you are away – The Demon Spawn left dog crap in my shoes and I am not sure I can resist the temptation to kill the little bastard. - T_

Jason choked back a laugh, even as his vision swam with anger - how come even the little devil child got second and third chances and he didn't? How come they had this family and he had nothing but burning rage to get him through the day?

The phone crunched under his boot and he ground his heal down until its screen was nothing but shards – just like the mirror.

He briefly considered setting Dick's clothes on fire but just about had enough sense to realize that, what with the amount of alcohol he had consumed, he might set himself on fire as well and that would be counter productive. Instead he grabbed his smokes and his bottle and slumped to the floor next to what used to be the table – he leaned against the foot of the bed and took a long drink.

It was dangerous to get so drunk, alone in a strange town, such a cliché too. Sometimes he felt like he was nothing but a walking, talking cliché. Other times he felt so sideways from the norm he may as well have been on another planet. He wondered briefly if everyone felt that way. That was a bit too deep for bleeding and drunk so he tucked it away for another less bleary time - instead he took another drink.

.

He woke up when something touched his face - there was a wild moment of uncoordinated panic, his limbs didn't seem to belong to him and he flailed wildly. After a second he calmed, the smell and sound of the intruder was familiar – he couldn't forget it; something unique, mixed with Kevlar, blood and night air; it was intoxicating. Jason fought to open his eyes against the harsh light, and although he knew he shouldn't, he leaned into the warm touch on his face. Suddenly it _hurt_ and he yelped in shock – distantly he realized that Dick had set his broken nose. It was a dull, unpleasant pain, made worse but the drunken pounding of his head.

Dick's hands were horribly gentle as he cleaned the blood from his face.

"You're a mess Jaybird," Dick said, his breath hot and sweet against Jason's skin, "much like the room – was this hurricane Jason or what?" Dick laughed quietly – it sounded forced and Jason found himself being wrestled out of his tee-shirt, his stomach rolled.

"Is that my phone – _was_ that my phone?" Dick said, he sounded somewhere between pissed and exasperated. "Great, thanks Jay."

Jason grunted and tried to keep from puking. He was half lifted, half dragged to the bed, then he was warm – wrapped in blankets and his brothers warm body.

He wanted to speak but all attempts at proper articulation were buried under two thirds of a bottle of cheep ass whisky and a crap-ton of emotional trauma. He made a humming noise instead and Dick's arms tightened around him. They stayed like that for a long while – until Jason's world stopped spinning.

.

Dawn light was creeping through the curtains when Jason woke again. His head was still pounding and his mouth tasted like he had eaten something a few days dead and dipped in ashtray sauce.

Dick was also awake, he could feel his brothers eyelashes against his skin as he blinked. He knew just because Dick was here beside him, it didn't mean this was sorted – hell, he had a feeling the shit hadn't even started to hit the proverbial fan.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Dick's voice was soft.

Jason grunted - he wasn't sure he was quite up to opening his mouth without puking.

"Look Jay, I'm sorry about earlier - about punching you, and about the other stuff too." He paused and ran his fingers gently down Jason's jaw. "I was angry and upset – but I know what you said wasn't true. I do trust you, please believe me."

Dick could be a complete asshole at times, but his good nature always got the better of him and he was able to just say shit like that and mean it with no shame. Saying what needed to be said made Jason feel so fucking vulnerable he just couldn't bear to speak. He tried and failed to gather the words he wanted. "Fuck me," he blurted instead and he felt all the blood that wasn't trying to pound its way out of his skull rush to his cheeks.

Dick huffed a laugh "Was that an exclamation or an invitation Jaybird?"

"Invite"

Dick blinked at him in surprise as a strange almost pained expression spread over his face, and he pressed a soft kiss to Jason's forehead. "Jay you always surprise me. You don't have to prove anything," he kissed him again. "I appreciate the sentiment though, I really do." He sighed and nuzzled his face against Jason's neck "But its not the right time for something like that, it should be everything the past 24 hours hasn't been."

"You're ruining my moment," Jason groused.

He could feel Dick's smile against his neck. "Did I mention you look like road kill?"

"I hate you," Jason told him

It was nice to know that Dick was still an ass as well as a sappy moron - and in truth Jason hadn't expected him to follow through, not really – but it was the easiest way of showing submission with out long wordy speeches, like the one Dick seemed to be working himself up to.

"I know its not really the most romantic thing, but the meaning behind it," Dick's voice was wet and on the edge of tears. "I love you for it Jason, I really do."

There were some extra words in there but the 'I love you' was loud and clear even to Jason's cynical mind. His heart clenched and he felt dizzy.

And then he just knew.

"You're leaving aren't you?" It wasn't even a proper question, he already knew the answer, and Dick's long silence just confirmed it.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "For now at least, I don't see any other way."

Suddenly he was just too fucking tired to fight about it, tired in body and soul.

He would decide if it was worth the struggle later – right now he didn't have the strength to give a shit.

Goddamn but he wished that were true.


End file.
